Target Practice
by Devo Girl
Summary: Hawkeye and Daredevil team up for some light crime-fighting, super gay romance, and a lot of feelings talk. Well, about as much feelings talk as two guys who mostly just punch things can manage.
1. Chapter 1

Note: Characters based on the comics, not the MCU. Also posted on AO3.

Kate Bishop leans against a stool, staring unhappily across the kitchen counter at Clint Barton. Even though it's nearly eleven am, as usual he's still dressed in the same grubby sweatpants and t shirt he had worn to bed the night before. He's drinking coffee straight from the pot, slowly turning the pages of the newspaper spread out on the counter in front of him.

I mean seriously, who even reads the physical paper anymore, she thinks with annoyance for the thousandth time, making the stool wobble unevenly on the floor.

"Old geezer," she mutters, but he doesn't hear her.

She flicks her gaze up to his ears. At least he has his hearing aids in today, the purple plastic hanging over the back of each ear. Lots of mornings he doesn't even bother to put them in. She doesn't understand why he doesn't ask Tony to give him some fancy high tech implant, but when she asked him about it, Clint just muttered something about not wanting to be turned into an Ultron.

The truth is his hearing had always been for shit, even before. It was totally obvious, the way he was nearly killed on like every mission by someone sneaking up behind him, the way he routinely misheard things, like calling Gil Grills or thinking people were calling him Hawkguy, or the way he cranked the TV way up on _Dog Cops_ , and still asked her what they just said. She hadn't known until he told her the extent of his hearing loss as a kid, when he explained that for years he basically only used ASL with Barney. Learning that made more details snap into focus, like the way he sometimes phrased things really strangely, like "Dog, can I pet it one time?" Or how even before, he kind of slurred his words a little, pronouncing the s and ch sound too far back, like his tongue didn't move quite right.

Now, a year after the attack, his voice has changed dramatically. It's tighter, rougher, more nasal. The words tend to run together, and the consonants are sometime wrong or missing. He sounds like a deaf person. He is, she has to remind herself. He is deaf. That's it forever now.

She hates herself for feeling differently about him. It isn't fair. But to make it in the superhero biz, you have to just charge forward and assume that whatever happens, someone will fix it by science or magic. Living with a disability isn't in her MO.

Kate had tried to learn ASL, but she still sucks at it. She feels self conscious about how slow and hesitant her hands are. She'd rather just talk, even though she knows how much he wants her to learn.

She didn't realize how intently she was staring at him until he meets her gaze. He flicks up a finger.

 _What's up?_

She shakes her head. _Nothing._

At the edge of a rooftop not far from Times Square, Clint shifts his weight very slightly from foot to foot, trying to ease his stiff muscles while making the minimum movement so he won't be spotted. Stakeouts are a bitch. He'd been standing in the same spot for two hours, watching a meeting going on in the building across the street. The well-lit room with wide windows stands out brightly against the night, and he can clearly see six of the Kingpin's goons arguing. If he really concentrates, he can even lipread a few words. There, that one just said Barton, he's sure of it, followed by something else he couldn't catch. Then they file out of the room and switch off the light. He has to tail them.

Clint turns fast to race down the stairs, then falls back with a surprised grunt.

"Gah!"

There's someone standing behind him. Clint, you dummy. Isn't Kate always telling you to watch your six? The figure takes another step closer to him. Even through the shadows, he can see the red costume and the little horns.

Daredevil. What the fuck is this guy doing here? Oh right, Kingpin, this must be his patrol. They've never crossed paths before, but Clint has seen SHIELD footage of some of his fights.

In the first second, Clint sizes him up as an opponent. The guy has a few inches on him, and probably a few pounds too, all muscle. Clint has faced all kinds of scary dudes including aliens but there's an aura of menace about this guy that he can practically feel. The slow footsteps, the deceptively loose way he holds his arms at his sides, Clint can tell he's anticipating his every move and mentally preparing a strike. The Kingpin's goons are getting away, and he doesn't want to waste time fighting this guy.

"Whoa! Hey! Daredevil, right?" He throws up his hands. "We're on the same side, right?"

"Who the [...] you?" Daredevil growls in a low tone that's hard to catch. The fan from the ventilation system is making white noise and there's not much light, but it's not hard to guess what he's saying. At least Daredevil's mask doesn't cover his mouth.

"I'm an Avenger!"

"Oh yeah, which one? You don't look like C[...] Am[..] or [...] Man." Damn dark roof. Why aren't there more lights up here?

"I'm Hawkeye." Clint pulls the bow off his back and brandishes it like some form of ID.

"Never ...?"

"What?" Dammit, Daredevil just said something longer and he missed it completely. There's only one little light over the door in the stairwell, and he can't see the guy's mouth at all. Clint had followed along well enough at first but that last bit escaped him.

"Could you say that again?"

Matt Murdock had been eating his dinner when he hears someone go up to the roof of his apartment building. He lowers the chopsticks into the box of takeout noodles as he concentrates on the footsteps. It doesn't sound like anyone he recognizes, certainly not one of the tenants. The mystery guy positions himself at the edge of the roof like a sniper then goes still. There's no way that could be anything good.

Regretfully, Matt pushes away his food and suits up.

He listens carefully to make sure none of the tenants are in the stairwell, then jogs up to the roof. The door is ajar slightly, and the sniper is still poised unmoving at the far edge of the roof. Matt hangs back and assesses him slowly. Steady heartbeat, slow steady breathing. This guy has clearly had training, but he doesn't seem to have superpowers or to be wearing any kind of enhancements. He's just a guy.

He doesn't seem nervous either, so maybe he's not about to shoot someone. And he doesn't have a gun. Matt breathes in deeply just to be sure, but there's no smell of metal and grease and propellant. What kind of sniper doesn't have a gun?

He'll just talk to the guy to find out what's going on. Matt strides toward him, scuffing his feet and making some noise so as not to startle him, but the guy nearly jumps out of his skin anyway when Matt comes up behind him.

"Hey." He uses his low, growly Daredevil voice, not his loud projecting courtroom voice.

"Whoa, hey! Daredevil, right?" The guy's voice is not at all what Matt is expecting. There's something too loud but strangely muffled about it, like he doesn't know how to make the sounds vibrate in his face correctly.

The guy pulls a long narrow object off his back, and it comes into focus at last for Matt: it's a bow. Aha, now he gets it. That's why he doesn't have a gun. Matt knows who Hawkeye is, but he can't help playing with the guy a little.

"Never heard of you. I don't recall asking for assistance in this neighborhood."

But when Hawkeye asks him to repeat what he just said, suddenly all the pieces come together. That buzzing sound-Matt had assumed it was a comms unit, but he focuses more and realizes the voice coming through it is his own, and it's buzzing equally on both sides. The guy is wearing hearing aids.

Instead of repeating what he just said, he points one finger at Hawkeye, then points the same finger to his ear, and traces it down the side of his face to his mouth.

Clint's eyes go wide when instead of repeating his question, Daredevil asks him in ASL, _You deaf?_

Clint is so surprised he momentarily forgets about tailing the goons. Crap. It's probably too late already, anyway he'll pick up their trail tomorrow and just deal with Tony bitching at him for misappropriating Avengers resources later. He can count on one hand the number of people in his life who know ASL, and those people are Barney and Katie. Barney has been gone for a year, and Katie barely counts as half a finger. He has to find out more about this guy. _You can sign?_

Daredevil holds his thumb and fingers a half inch apart, the universal sign for a little bit.

 _How?_

Daredevil points to himself then adds _deaf girlfriend, long time ago_. His gestures are expansive, emphasizing that is was a loooong time ago. "Sorry I'm not that good at it," he adds, dropping the vigilante growl and speaking more normally.

"Uh, if we're gonna talk, do you mind turning into the light? It's really dark up here and I can't see your face at all," Clint says apologetically.

"Oh, ok, sure..." Daredevil turns and they walk a few feet back towards the stairwell. "Is that better? Sorry, I'm not always sure when I'm in the light or shadow."

"What?"

"You know who I am, right?"

"No, I..." As Clint starts to speak, Daredevil pushes back his cowl, revealing a shock of coppery red hair and the bluest eyes Clint has ever seen. Scratch that, not a normal shade of blue, but a kind of glowing flat surface of blue scar tissue.

"My name is Matt Murdock," he says, fingerspelling it slowly then extending a hand.

Clint just stands there gaping at him. "You're blind?"

Matt makes an irritated snort. "I assumed you knew," he says, touching the tips of his fingers to the side of his forehead, the sign for _know_. "The Avengers and SHIELD have files on me. It was splashed all over the _Bugle_ for weeks."

"I, uh, don't keep up with the superhero gossip," Clint admits, rubbing the back of his neck. "I never read the _Bugle_. It's a rag. _New York Times_ only."

Matt's face splits in a dazzling grin. "Ha! A man after my own heart."


	2. Chapter 2

The doorbell to Clint's apartment rings, making the lights flash on and off. Clint pulls the door open, revealing a tall, well dressed man in a suit and tie, holding a white blind person's cane, with round red glasses hiding his eyes. It takes him a beat to recognize the guy.

"Uh, Matt? Hi?"

"Barton, when you invited me over for target practice, I assumed you meant Avengers Mansion. I didn't think I'd have to cross borough lines just to get here."

"Now I live here," Clint says lamely, getting the word order slightly mixed up, like usual when he's distracted. He doesn't want to say, my ex-wife got the Mansion in the divorce. "I, uh, thought we'd be in uniform? I wore my chevron and everything." He gestures towards the lightweight bulletproof shirt he's wearing, black with purple insignia on the front.

Matt snorts with laughter. "I never said, you just assumed." He reaches forward to trail a few fingers over the front of Clint's shirt. "I'm sure it's a very nice chevron." Matt then uses the same hand to push Clint aside and step into the apartment, folding up his cane and taking off his glasses, and tossing them onto the kitchen counter. "You going to introduce us?" he asks, pointing his face toward the couch, where Kate is lacing up her sneakers.

"Hi D-a-r-e-d-e-v-i-l," she says, fingerspelling it with an eye on Clint so he knows she knows. "Don't mind me, I'm just leaving. Enjoy your p-l-a-y-d-a-t-e," she adds as she breezes out the door.

"That's Kate, my, uh, sidekick," Clint explains as the door clicks shut behind her.

Matt hears her call out, "Partner, not sidekick!" through the closed door.

Lucky wanders up to Matt and sniffs at his hand.

Clint rubs the back of his neck as he stares at Matt, who's now bending down to pet the dog. He's feeling intensely awkward and annoyed already. What the hell is he doing? It was harder to tell before with the costume, but now that he sees Matt in street clothes, he can tell this is someone with a lot of education and probably a fancy day job. Why would he want to hang around with a former carnie who never even graduated from elementary school? On the other hand, Clint thinks back to those fight videos. You don't learn to punch like that in college. Did this guy grow up on the streets too? What's his story?

Matt seems to sense his nervousness, because he takes off his jacket and rolls up the sleeves of his dress shirt. "Should we just get right to it then?"

"Ok." Clint picks up a bow, a smaller one that's easy to handle. "Right here."

Matt comes to stand directly in front of him, holding up a hand until he grasps the bow. Clint stands right behind him, showing him where to put his feet and how to square his shoulders, then puts his hands on the bow and they draw it back together. Not everyone can draw a bow on the first try, but Matt's surprisingly strong. They release the bow and Clint puts an arrow in his hand, letting him feel the tip, the plastic fletching, and the nock at the back, then shows him how to fit the nock in the bow. Matt draws it back on his own.

"Ok, so now how do I aim?" he asks.

Clint shrugs. "How should I know? I use my eyes. Use your superpowers, Daredevil." Matt hasn't actually told him he has powers, but Clint assumes he must to do what he does. And right then, Clint sees him use his powers. Matt takes a deep breath and goes completely still, turning his head so his ear is cocked toward the target on the other side of the room, and clicks his tongue. It's not a big noise, but the apartment is quiet and Clint is standing right next to him or he probably would have missed it. Matt adjusts his aim, then lets fly.

The arrow hums across the room and thuds into the bottom corner of the target.

"How'd I do?" he asks, grinning, as his flat blue eyes swim around sightlessly.

Clint is still feeling a bit ornery with him. "See for yourself."

Matt frowns and again turns his ear toward the target. "It's hard to pinpoint something that small at a distance when it's not moving," he explains, then strides across the room to check the target with his hands. "Oh, is that me?" His face falls.

"It's not bad for the first time. Here, how to adjust, I'll show you. Your elbow. You gotta lift more."

They try a few more times, and Matt's aim gets closer and closer to the center of the target. After a while, they call it a day and head up to the roof with some beers from the fridge. Once they settle in to two tattered old lawn chairs, Clint starts feeling awkward again. So far all of their conversation has been voiced, but he desperately wants to sign with someone. That's why he invited this stuck-up over-educated prick to his apartment. He can do target practice any day with Katie.

 _We sign, o-k_? he asks, putting aside his beer. _You understand?_

 _I try_ , Matt answers hesitantly. _Not very good at signing_.

 _Practice_.

"What? Sorry, I don't know that sign."

 _P-r-a-c-t-i-c-e_ , Clint spells out, then repeats the sign, brushing his right hand in a fist across his extended left index finger.

Matt tightens his lips, for the first time looking less than self-assured. "Actually, it's not that easy for me to pick up all the movements, especially with fingerspelling."

Clint grunts and looks away. "Never mind." He picks up his beer and takes a long swig, trying to look unconcerned.

He feels a hand on his knee, and looks back sharply. _I want to sign_. Matt adds, "What I meant was, it's easier if I can feel your hands while you're signing. Do you mind?"

Clint shakes his head. They drag the two chairs closer together, so they are facing each other, and Matt leans forward and places his hands lightly on top of his. He's glad there's no one up here right now because it must look really weird. Matt is close enough that he can feel the other man's breath on his cheek, but it's not such a bad feeling. His eyelids droop down, his eyes rolling slowly back and forth. Clint shows him the sign for practice again, and this time he gets it.

They don't talk about much the first day, but pretty soon they're meeting up once a week or whenever they're both free, for target practice or sparring then beer and conversation. Matt can really put it away, and Clint admires that. He's also got an incredible memory, and his signing gets better surprisingly quickly, especially considering that he can't look up videos on his own to study. They get on with a combination of signing and talking, but Clint doesn't mind even the talking. When Matt uses what he calls his courtroom voice, he's really easy to hear and lipread because he enunciates so clearly.

 _How you learn signing so quickly?_ Matt asks him.

 _Two years deaf school_ , Clint explains. _First grade, second grade. Brother B-a-r-n-e-y also learned, we used at home._

"What? I thought you only were injured last year," Matt says. Clint shoots him a look, because he hasn't told Matt any of this. Did he read his Avenger file or what? But then he would already know everything, so why ask? Even though Matt can't see the look Clint just gave him, he seems to pick up on the change in mood instantly, because he adds apologetically, _I read in newspaper, looked up last week, saw what happened. Sorry._

Clint shrugs.

 _You were deaf as a child?_

Clint rotates his fist like a nodding head. _Yes, father beat me, seven years old. Blood came out my ears, no more sound for a long time. No money for s-u-r-g-e-r-y or hearing aids, public school wouldn't take me, so I was sent to deaf school._ He doesn't tell this to just anyone, but this guy seems like he would understand.

 _That's i-l-l-e-g-a-l_ , Matt tells him. _You could have s-u-e-d._

Clint waves a hand dismissively. _It was o-k, a good school, good experience_.

 _Only two years?_

 _My hearing started to recover on its own. Then mother, father died, we were taken out of school, and sent to a Catholic orphanage._

Matt doesn't know those signs, so Clint spells it out for him. Once he gets it, his normally impassive face goes pale. _Me too_ , he signs, pointing to himself.

 _You too? Was it bad?_

 _Yes, very bad. Sorry._

Neither of them say anything more for a moment, not wanting to go into more detail of shared horrors.

 _But it's o-k, Barney and I left, joined the c-i-r-c-u-s,_ Clint adds, and Matt gives a bark of laughter.

"No kidding!"

"Yeah, that's what we did." _You too?_

Matt takes a long swig of beer. "Something like that."

"Were you blind then too?"

"Since I was nine." Matt adds the signs at the same time as speaking.

"Oh shit man, I'm sorry."

Matt smirks. "Sight is overrated."

"Come on man, you gotta tell me how you do it," Clint says in what he hopes is a cajoling tone. "I told you all my secrets. So what's your superpower? Is it like super hearing or what?"

Matt nods slowly. "Yes, that's part of it. All my senses are heightened, but it's more than that. I can feel things with radar."

"What, like a bat?"

"Yes, just like a bat. I can hear everything, but not just that, I can feel the air currents and sound waves on my skin. I don't get a lot of detail, so I can't read the expression on your face, but I can tell where everything is, especially when things are moving."

"Must be nice."

"It has its advantages."

 _Did you ever want to trade it all just to be a normal person?_ Clint asks, switching back to ASL.

 _No, never._ Matt's signs are usually kind of loose and hesitant but now he snaps his fingers forcefully. He's really sure. _You?_

 _I don't know. Maybe. Being deaf as a kid is why my eyesight got so good. I had to really look, notice everything. No distractions, nothing gets past me. But life as a hearing person is a lot easier, I know from personal experience._

He pauses for a moment, but Matt doesn't say anything or take his hands away. Suddenly, it all comes pouring out of him, so fast he's not sure if Matt can follow, but he keeps going anyway. _Why did that happen to me? The attack, that weird clown guy. It's like he knew me, knew about my past. If he wanted to kill me, why didn't he just shoot me? Why stab me in the ears with my own arrows? Who even does that?_

He stops again. _Sorry, did you get any of that?_

 _I got enough. You think he knew you?_

 _I don't know. It just felt that way, like he had seen inside me._

Matt sits back with a sigh. "I don't know, it's just like that sometimes. If you start thinking it's personal, you'll drive yourself crazy, believe me. You just have to keep moving forward, doing what you can to protect people."

Clint mirrors Matt's posture, leaning back against the chair and closing his eyes, blocking him out. Barney said get it all back, and they did. They won. So why does he still wake up every day wishing he were someone, anyone else?

He must have had more beer than he realized because he feels tears leaking out of his closed eyes, tracing down the sides of his face. He's glad Matt can't see him. Oh wait, but that asshole can probably smell his tears or something. Ugh, people with powers are the worst.

Clint bends down to pick up his beer, using the movement as an excuse to rub roughly at his face with the front of his t shirt.

He takes a long swig, then wedges the bottle between his knees to sign, _I hate the way Kate looks at me. I can see the pity in her eyes. We used to be close but now I can't even talk to her._

He was expecting more sympathy or something but instead Matt just smirks at him and replies, _I can't help you with your girl problems._

 _What? You think...? No! Kate is nineteen!_

 _So?_

 _You think I'm having sex with her? What kind of creep do you think I am?_

Matt shrugs. _Isn't that why superheroes get sidekicks?_

Clint snaps his first two fingers to his thumb. _No!_

 _You're telling me the Avengers aren't all having sex with each other?_

Clint scratches the back of his neck and looks away, while Matt grins some more.

 _I don't have that kind of relationship with Kate! Anyway I think she only dates women. We don't really talk about that._

 _Ok, ok,_ Matt backs off. _Sorry. What you were saying before-remember your disability doesn't define you._

 _Easy for you to say, no one knows you're blind. I don't have a secret identity. Everyone can see these_ , he jabs two index fingers at the purple hearing aids, _and I can't talk properly._

 _Secret identity no more. I told you it was in all the papers. I think you're the only one in the whole city who didn't know. And I have a day job. You think people don't notice I'm blind?_

Clint doesn't say anything.

 _It's part of who you are but it doesn't define you_ , Matt repeats, moving his hands more forcefully to make his point.

Clint brushes his hands away in annoyance. "What does that even mean!" he bursts out. "I got enough of that empty bullshit from the therapist the Avengers made me talk to. I expected more from you."

Matt sits back in his chair, his face unreadable as usual. Clint you dummy, he thinks to himself. Why do I have to be such an asshole?


	3. Chapter 3

After that, Clint is sure he will never hear from Matt again, so he's surprised to get a text asking if he wants to grab a beer again.

 _Sure, come over anytime_ , he replies.

 _No, come to my place_ , the text from Matt reads. Another text pops up after the first: _Your place reeks of dog, old pizza and burnt coffee_.

Clint makes an annoyed noise and tosses the phone away, but an hour later he picks it up again and replies, _Ok, give me the address._

 _You know it already, you were staking it out the other day_.

 _Dude, that's your building? As in, you live there?_

 _Yes._

 _Did you know the Kingpin's goons have an office across the street from you?_

 _Yes. I took care of it._

Clint tries not to think too much about what that means.

His first instinct when entering Matt's apartment is to case the joint. Old habits die hard. He glances around sharply, noting approvingly that it's pretty secure, bare even. There's no TV, and any computer equipment is probably in that locked cabinet. There's nothing on the walls at all, none of the junk most people collect. Maybe he doesn't spend much time at home.

Matt opens the fridge and tosses Clint a cold beer without turning around, trusting that he'll catch it.

They settle onto the couch, angled toward each other, close enough that their knees are touching. It's still a little weird to sit this close to someone, but Clint really likes these ASL conversations, even if it's kind of awkward. There's so much he would never say out loud but somehow it's ok to sign. Struggling to lipread, trying to modulate his voice when he can't fully hear himself, that's work. Signing reminds him of the hours he and Barney spent talking with their hands, a secret language his parents never learned. Even after his hearing returned well enough, in their years with the circus, they used it as a private code. He can still see Barney's hands flashing out the words. Signing is love.

 _How are you?_ Matt asks him.

 _Slow week,_ Clint admits.

 _No calls to Avengers assemble?_

 _Asshole._

 _But you are still on the team, right?_ Matt adds, "Superheroes or no, they are still an employer. If they don't provide reasonable accommodation, you can sue them under the ADA."

Clint feels the color rise in his cheeks. _It's not that. They gave me a new c-o-m that works with my hearing aids so I can hear the team talking on missions. It's o-k. But I've been knocked down to the c-team for...some minor lawbreaking_. He really doesn't want to go into detail about how he knocked over a strip club just because a pretty girl asked him to. And later torched the same strip club. Matt doesn't press him.

 _A new c-o-m? That's all? You can't have surgery or something?_

Clint makes an annoyed noise with his mouth. _You think I'm stupid? I've had three surgeries already. That's why I can hear at all._

He flashes back to that moment in the hospital, the unreality of seeing the world with no sound, watching people talk like watching TV on mute. When he was deaf as a kid, he could still hear sounds, just muffled. It felt like being stuck in a coat closet, every sound like warm pressure on his ears with no way to distinguish what the words were. But this was different. He felt like he was floating. Then, the rush of sound when he put the hearing aids in for the first time. It was so overwhelming he just took them out again. Even with them in, he still sometimes gets that coat closet feeling.

 _Do you want to get a...?_

Clint knows where this is going. Rather than waiting for Matt to fumble around with the spelling, he just shows him the sign for _cochlear implant_ , first two fingers bent like a claw, jabbing at the back of his head behind his right ear.

 _Do you know how it works?_

 _Not really_ , Matt admits.

 _When the implant goes in, it destroys whatever hearing you might have left. I can still hear somewhat, and my ears might recover more. I don't want to do anything too soon. Also the cochlear implant isn't magic. It's not like natural hearing. It depends on how your brain reacts, it might sound robotic or strange. Some people never adjust, but it's permanent. It can't be undone if you don't like it. I don't want to spend the rest of my life listening to a robot voice. I want to keep my natural hearing, even if it is shitty_.

Matt flicks his index finger up by his forehead. _I understand_. "So Stark didn't offer to give you some high tech version of the implant?"

Clint snorts. _Would you trust that jerk to make you robot eyes?_

 _Hell no_. They both laugh.

By this point they have worked their way through a few more beers. Clint staggers off to the bathroom, then returns a few minutes later, falling heavily onto the couch.

 _Hey, the light in your bathroom is burned out. I had to piss in the dark_ , he complains.

Matt laughs. _Sorry, I didn't notice. Sometimes Foggy forgets to turn the lights off when he leaves, and they stay on for days_. He pauses for a second, then tilts his head toward the stand lamp. _The light is on in this room, right? Is to too dark for you?_

 _It's o-k, the light was on when we came in._

"Argh, Foggy! I told you," Matt exclaims out loud. "No wonder my electricity bill is so high." They both laugh.

"You have a nice laugh," Matt says, his voice suddenly lower.

What the hell? Is this jerk coming on to me? Clint barely has time to form the thought in his mind before Matt leans in a kisses him right on the mouth.

Clint's first thought is how long it's been since he kissed a guy. The slight stubble, the flat, hard muscles, it's all so different from being with a woman. He's not used to being the smaller partner. But it feels...nice. He closes his eyes and relaxes into the kiss, as Matt's hands snake around his waist and up his back, pressing their bodies together. The kiss is hot, insistent, and seems to go on and on.

After what feels like forever, Clint leans back against the couch, his head spinning. "Uh... so you're...? Um...I thought...you said...ex-girlfriend..." He's not sure if he's speaking too quietly to be heard. He can barely make his voice vibrate in his throat, but Matt seems to hear him anyway, because he breaks into a huge, wolfish grin.

"I told you, that was a long, long time ago, before I came out."

"Damn, so are all the costumed heroes gay?" Clint mutters.

Matt laughs and jabs a finger in his ribs, making Clint laugh too. "Sweetheart, what do you think the costume is about?"

Matt stands abruptly and without a word strides off toward the bedroom, stripping off his clothes as he goes. Clint curses under his breath, still sprawled on the couch. Arrogant prick. He should just get up and leave. That would show him. Except...he really doesn't want to go. A second later, he's picked himself up and gone trotting obediently after.

The only light in the bedroom is the streetlights filtering in through the edges of the blinds. Clint tries to flip on the overhead light, but that's burned out too. Damn.

Matt grabs Clint around the waist and strips off his t-shirt, then tosses him onto the bed with a growl. A second later, he's right on top of him, thrusting between his legs.

Ok, if that's how it's gonna be, Clint thinks as he flips him over, pinning him down playfully. Matt flips him back again, and they grapple in the bed, rolling over and over, kissing roughly, muscles straining.

With a grunt, Matt gains the upper hand and pushes Clint down in front of him again, jamming his cock between his thighs and thrusting hard. He doesn't ask if he can stick it in, and Clint doesn't offer. Between the legs is good enough for the first time. He squeezes his thighs as tightly as he can, and grasps Matt's cock from the front. Matt gasps and thrusts harder, reaching around to stroke Clint's cock as well.

Apparently it's more than ok, because Matt is done within a few minutes, shuddering and groaning, and Clint is too, not long after. Matt sprawls out beside him on the bed, a dopey grin on his face, his chest still heaving.

"Thanks," he says. "I wasn't sure you'd let me do that. Is it your first time with a guy?"

Clint looks away. "No...not the first time, no..."

As they are slowly getting dressed again, Clint voices the question that has been rattling around in the back of his mind this entire time. "So why's a fancy college boy like you interested in a ex-carnie, ex-con like me?"

Matt shrugs back into his oxford shirt. "Maybe I just like a bit of rough trade," he replies with a grin.

"Asshole." Clint takes a penny from his pocket at flicks it at Matt's forehead, but Matt snatches it out of the air.

"Nice try, Hawkeye," he laughs, pocketing the penny.


	4. Chapter 4

Clint is watching reruns of _Dog Cops_ with the captions on and debating whether to walk up the stairs to his bed or just sleep the rest of the night on the couch, when a dark figure appears at the window. He jumps what feels like a foot straight in the air and rolls off the couch, cursing loudly.

He strides across the room and bangs open the sash. Matt is standing on his fire escape in his full Daredevil get-up, his face in shadow, except for his huge white grin.

 _What the hell?_ Clint signs angrily. _I think you made me piss myself a little._

Matt ignores him. "Suit up, Hawkeye," he commands. "We're going out on patrol."

"We're what? I can barely see you," Clint complains.

Matt steps inside the room while Clint snaps on the overhead light.

"Ever since you cleared out the tracksuits, there have been new gangs trying to establish their territory. Some kids have been trying to shake down businesses in this neighborhood, to set up a protection racket," Matt explains, punctuating his speech with a few signs and fingerspelling. He gives that devilish grin that sends chills up Clint's spine. "We're going to go put the fear of God in them."

"This neighborhood? You mean here in Brooklyn? Isn't this kind of far from your territory?"

Matt shrugs. "I've been spending so much time here lately, it's becoming my territory too. I've been noticing what's going on here, and frankly I'm surprised you haven't been doing anything about it. Come on, you'll feel better if you get back out there. Let's go!"

Clint sighs, thinking regretfully of his soft bed. He should have just gone up the stairs, then he could be sleeping right now. "Ok, let me put on my chevron."

He returns a minute later, bow and quiver slung on his back, tugging on the black shirt with the purple insignia.

"Hey, how did you get all the way out here, anyway? Uber gold for superheroes?" Clint asks as they climb out onto the fire escape.

"I took the train, like always."

"What, dressed like that?"

Matt snorts. "Of course not. I changed on your roof."

Freaking diva, Clint thinks. He could have knocked on the door and changed inside like a normal person-

But before he can finish formulating the thought, Matt dives off the side of the fire escape, swinging down on a cable from his billy club. Clint groans and reaches behind him for a grappling hook arrow.

Two hours later, they are climbing back in through the window again. Clint would have vastly preferred to go in the front entrance like a human being, but he doesn't want his neighbors to freak out by running into Daredevil in the stairwell.

"What the hell was that?!" Matt demands as he pushes his cowl back, his red hair sweaty and tousled, his brow pinched up into a frown above his blank eyes.

Clint shrugs as he drops his remaining arrows on the floor and flings himself onto the couch with a loud groan.

"What made you think it was a good idea to throw my cane at that guy's head?" Matt continues ranting. "And why did you even have my cane with you?"

"I saw it on the fire escape as we were leaving," Clint mumbles. "I thought you might want it."

"Want it for what?!" Matt exclaims, still too agitated to sit down. "That was just a plain aluminum one. I had my billy clubs with me."

"Um, I dunno... It's in my quiver if you want it back." Clint nudges the quiver on the floor with a toe, and several purple arrows and two bent sections of a folding cane roll gently onto the hardwood floor.

"No I don't want it back! You broke it when you threw it at that guy, which didn't even slow him down, I might add. Now how am I supposed go home without it?"

Clint finally flips from apologetic to annoyed, sitting up sharply. "First of all, _Daredevil_ , you just told me you don't need it, and I know you have like ten other canes at your place. I saw them. Second, I wouldn't have to improvise like that if you had taken a minute to come up with a plan before doing your superhero dive off the fire escape. This is why no one ever wants to team up with you."

That brings Matt up short. He stops pacing, his face going slack with surprise. He mutters something Clint doesn't quite catch, but the shape of his lips looks something like [Spiderman] and [team up with me]. Even if he doesn't get all the words, the petulant look on Matt's face is unmistakable. Clint can't help but grin a little bit. Such ego.

Matt sits down heavily on the couch at last and pulls off his gloves. _O-k, you win, a-v-e-n-g-e-r, next time we make a plan first_ , he signs. _Got any beer?_

Clint heaves himself off the couch and makes the short round trip to the refrigerator. "Ok," he says after talking a long swallow, "Next time try not to hit the guy's hand so his gun goes off right by my head."

Matt waves a hand. "Please, that wasn't remotely close to you. Next time you watch it with those sonic arrows. My ears are still ringing."

Clint makes a face. "Whatever. It worked. You were letting that goon get away."

"What are you talking about? I sent him down the alley right at you! I assumed you would take care of him."

"This is why if you want to team up, you need to have a plan. In advance."

Matt drains the remainder of his beer. "Well, at least we stopped that shakedown and the cops showed up to take care of the rest. You took off pretty quick though."

"I what?"

"When the police arrived, you left," Matt repeats more clearly.

"Huh. Well, you may be a hero in Hell's Kitchen but the cops here are, um, not so happy with me. I've been trying to lie low. The whole street vigilante thing hasn't worked out so well for me."

"What are you talking about!" Matt makes a sweeping gesture with both hands, grinning broadly. "It's the best part of the superheroing gig! Would you rather be playing second string to Captain American and Iron Man? Anyway you were the hero in the Battle of Brooklyn! It was in all the papers."

Clint groans loudly. "Some hero. The bank took the building and the car. Said I was never the legal owner of either one. I can't even buy them back because my fucking brother stole all my money."

"Why would you want to do that? Whether you know it or not, the bank did you a favor. First, you could have been prosecuted for buying a car you knew was stolen. Second, buying the building would have made you a slumlord. Is that what you really want?"

Clint shrugs. "Maybe you could help me out with getting the building back. You're the law talking dude."

Matt snorts. "No! I'm a criminal defense lawyer, not a real estate lawyer."

"There's a difference?"

"There's a big fucking difference! Anyway I'm not helping you transition in your career path from Avenger to slumlord. Let it go."

"I can't let it go! I lost everything for this building. My hearing, my money, my girlfriend, everything! Nobody fucking cares! If I lose the building too, what did any of it mean?"

He glances up at Matt, hating that he has to look straight at his face to know for sure what he's saying. But Matt doesn't say anything, and his expression as ever is blank, his blue eyes roaming slightly. Matt's hand reaches out hesitantly towards his arm, but Clint shrugs him off. "Never mind," he mutters. "It's late, I'm going to bed."


	5. Chapter 5

Matt Murdock lies awake in his bed, regretting his life choices. It's five am and he's wide awake, even though he's only had a few hours of sleep. Next to him, Clint Barton is snoring away at earthshaking volume, as usual. Every night, Clint takes out his hearing aids and sleeps like the dead. Nothing wakes him.

Matt puts his arms behind his head with a sigh. He envies Clint's ability to shut out the world. He tries to block out the snoring to concentrate on Clint's heartbeat instead, but it's no good. The slow, steady beat, the slight heat radiating off his prone form, it's impossible to separate from all the other sleep noises for more than a few seconds.

He thinks regretfully of earplugs or headphones, but he knows those won't work. They won't deaden the sound enough, and the distortion they cause throws off his radar and makes him feel dizzy and disoriented.

When the volume becomes unbearable, Matt aims a sharp kick at Clint's shin. The snoring stops abruptly as Clint rolls over, only to start up again a minute later. At least it's not quite as loud now.

Matt sighs again. What the hell is he even doing with his life, he wonders. It's been three months since they started dating, or whatever this is. They never talked about it, but they've been getting together at least once or twice every week. That must mean something, but Matt isn't sure what.

Clint is pretty much the opposite of what Matt thought he wanted in a boyfriend. For one thing, he's a huge slob. Matt keeps his space meticulously ordered, Spartan even. At Clint's apartment, he's constantly tripping over arrows left on the floor, or sitting on gross dirty laundry left on the couch, or knocking over old beer bottles and coffee cups left on the coffee table for god knows how long. Clint dresses like a slob too, even Matt can tell. His t-shirts and underwear have holes, and that musty smell when you mix up your clean laundry with the dirty laundry, or when you wear your pajamas all day and try to pass it off as workout clothes. Matt is always impeccably dressed; he never wants anyone to think he can't take care of himself. And he enjoys that confidence that comes from knowing he looks good. It's irritating that Clint doesn't seem to care.

As if the mess isn't bad enough, whenever Matt goes over to that crumbling fifth storey walk-up in Brooklyn, Clint is always listening to 90s grunge at ear-splitting levels. As a present, Matt gave him earphones that could be modified to stick the wires directly into his hearing aids, but Clint just complained that it isn't the same if he can't feel the vibrations in the floorboards.

 _Your neighbors might appreciate the headphones_ , Matt observed, but Clint just shrugged. Since losing ownership of the building, Clint has gone back to avoiding them, and Matt notices that they never come by or try to talk to him, at least not when he's there.

And another thing, Clint seems to subsist on a diet of junk food, like he doesn't even care what kind of garbage he's shoveling in his mouth. Matt tries to introduce him to better quality, healthier food, like a goddamn green vegetable once in a while. He'll eat it and seem to enjoy it, but then the next day he's back to week old pizza, and he scorches the coffee every damn time. How does he not notice this shit?

Clint is a pain in the ass, so why can't Matt stay away from him?

"A blind guy and a deaf guy, that's like the start of a joke, haw haw," Foggy guffawed when Matt told him about Clint for the first time. "How do you even talk to each other?"

"It's complicated. We get by," Matt replied stiffly, not wanting to go into more detail when it was apparent that Foggy just wanted to make the whole thing a big fucking joke. Not that Matt can't laugh at himself, but he doesn't like the idea of anyone making fun of Clint.

The truth is Matt's getting a lot better at ASL, remembering more words and more complex grammar, getting his hands to move more smoothly, and getting better at sensing the nuances when Clint is signing. Half of the meaning of ASL is in facial expression, Clint explained to him, but they modified some of the grammar, like adding the sign for _not_ instead of just a head shake to indicate a negative, and it seems to be working ok. He can even get most of the signs when he's not touching Clint's hands, but it takes a lot of focus.

"Why even bother?" Foggy asked, ignoring Matt's more serious mood as usual. "You're a handsome dude. You know you could have any gay guy in the city you want, right?"

"Why did you bother to partner with me when you could have worked with any sighted lawyer in the city?" Matt shot back. "You could save a bundle in transcription fees alone."

"Whoa, ok, no need to go on the defensive, partner. So you're really serious about this dude?"

Matt didn't have an answer. Lying in bed, thinking back to this conversation, he still doesn't. Why _is_ he going to so much trouble just to talk to this one guy? He's been enjoying the challenge of learning ASL, but it has to be more than that.

Matt always told himself that the most attractive physical trait in a partner is the voice. A low, silky masculine voice with musical undertones. Clint's voice is not that. Matt knows Clint is embarrassed about the way his voice sounds, and would prefer not to talk at all, but does anyway because it's just easier sometimes. His voice has an unlovely harsh nasal tone, often too loud, and flat, with no resonance. He can't help it; it's because he can feel the vibration more clearly that way. Sometimes the consonants don't come out right, or he kind of blurs his words like he's got a mouthful of cotton, more so when he doesn't have his hearing aids in. And yet Matt finds he's not bothered by the way Clint talks, just the opposite in fact. It's just him, a sound that is unique to him, without any pretense or enhancement.

Things like hair color and eye color don't matter to Matt; it didn't even occur to him to ask. That's not how he identifies people. Besides the voice, it's the gait and posture that define most people. Clint has this deceptively loose way of moving, like he's just slouching along and not paying attention, but it's an act, a way of staying ready for anything. He can snap to attention in a second, or stand perfectly still, all his focus down to a single point. Clint's heartbeat is strong and steady, and always speeds up just little whenever he catches sight of Matt. Matt never has to ask how Clint feels about him, because his body gives him away every time-the rush of blood, the breath catching in his throat. And then there's his scent. Even though his apartment is disgusting and despite his slovenly habits, somehow underneath all that, he smells like sandalwood and musk, sweet and smoky, and Matt can never get enough of breathing him in.

The snoring finally subsides as Clint begins to stir. Matt rolls over and buries his face in Clint's neck, breathing in deeply. He wants to stay like this forever.

Clint slowly awakens. Before he even opens his eyes, he can feel Matt curled up around him, his face pressed up against his neck. Clint rolls into the embrace, blinking his eyes slowly open as he moves his face down for a lazy morning kiss.

Matt's mouth moves. Clint can feel the vibrations in Matt's chest, even though with empty ears he can't hear the sounds at all. Matt's lips move in the shape that says [Good morning].

Clint signs _good morning_ back at him, although it's awkward with their bodies pressed together. Matt grips him more tightly, and they are both hard already. Their kissing becomes more urgent.

Sex with Matt is like nothing Clint has ever experienced before. Not just because he's a guy, and it's been so long, almost ten years, since he was with another guy. Although it is partly that. There's something about kissing a guy, that vague sense that they are going against society. When he's with a woman, it's like what everyone expects. But with a guy, there's this extra added thrill of rebellion.

It doesn't hurt that Matt is one of the most gorgeous human beings Clint has ever seen. Tall but lean, all muscle, with a broad chest and classic square jaw. That red hair and pale skin, those icy blue eyes. At first it felt a little strange that Matt doesn't really express emotion with his face often, but Clint's gotten used to it now. Matt has other tells that Clint has learned, like the way he puts his head to the side when he's concentrating on something, or lifts his chin up when he's thinking hard. The best is that little flare of his nostrils whenever Clint comes near, just before they kiss, along with that tiny half smile Clint knows is just for him.

But mostly it's the super senses. Clint doesn't need to say anything at all-Matt can read his body like an open book. Matt knows exactly how to touch him, how to run his fingers through his hair, down his face and across his chest, exactly when and how hard to pinch or squeeze.

Matt grins widely and pushes Clint down on the bed, banishing all lingering sleepiness. Clint knows from the sudden rush of energy that Matt could tell just how aroused Clint is feeling from watching him. Matt starts kissing his chest, slowly working his way up to one nipple, then the other, while he pushes his hips up against Clint, their cocks sliding together. Clint groans loudly.

Matt feels around on the nightstand for the condoms and lube without moving his head. When he finds them and sits back, Clint leans forward to grab his cock, enjoying the look on Matt's face as he strokes him for a few moments, careful not to go too far.

 _Roll over_ , Matt orders.

So yes, Clint has even been letting Matt top him, which he never let anyone do before. He's getting used to it. There's always that moment of fear right at the beginning, but Matt goes slow and warms him up so carefully that his nervousness disappears, and before he realizes it, he's face down in the pillow, taking it hard. He loves how rough they can get, rolling around sweaty and dirty.

Matt works up a rhythm from the gentlest rocking to surging thrusts, as Clint makes low guttural cries almost without realizing it. Matt leans forward to wrap his fingers around Clint's cock, both their bodies bathed in sweat. Like usual, Matt draws him out as long as he possibly can, teasing him, making him wait until he's practically begging for it, then finally exploding with white hot heat just as he feels Matt do the same.

After, they lay beside each other on the bed, buzzing but spent. Clint rubs his face into Matt's neck, loving that he doesn't have to say anything at all. He wishes they could stay like this forever.


	6. Chapter 6

Clint is doing target practice when the doorbell makes the overhead light flash. Actually Lucky tips him off a second earlier, lumbering towards the door and barking. Clint opens the door to find Matt standing there, dressed in one of his nice lawyer suits, holding a white cane but without the red sunglasses this time. With his face bare, the pained expression is even more obvious.

 _Sorry, the music. I'll turn it off_ , Clint apologizes, and sprints across the room to turn off the stereo. He turns back around to see Matt is still standing by the door, but now looking more relaxed. Matt touches his flat hand to his mouth and extends his arm back down again. _Thank you._

 _Sorry, I wasn't expecting you._

 _Surprise. I'm taking you to dinner._

 _What, like a date?_

 _Yes, a date. Go change your clothes._

 _Why?_ Clint looks down at his clothes. He's wearing sweat pants and his favorite t-shirt, the white one with the purple target. But wait, when did it get that big hole near the bottom? Aw, t-shirt, no.

 _You slept in those clothes. I can tell,_ Matt signs, wrinkling his nose.

 _O-k, o-k._ Clint trudges up the stairs to the loft. "But I only have one suit and I ain't wearing it!" he shouts back down.

A minute later, he jogs back down the stairs, wearing jeans and a clean shirt he dug out of the back of the dresser drawer. It's a Stark Industries promotional shirt that he got for free at some stupid event, but hey, at least it has a collar.

 _Good enough?_ he asks as he pulls on his purple high-tops.

 _Yes. What's good around here?_

 _There's a C-h-i-n-e-s-e place down the street that's good. You like?_

 _Sure._

As they walk down the street, Matt puts his hand on Clint's elbow, like he's letting Clint guide him. Clint smiles to himself. Matt doesn't need to hold his arm, but with the white cane, no one will question why they're walking arm in arm. It's a sweet gesture, and he likes being stealthy like that. He also appreciates that Matt came to the door for once and in his regular clothes, instead of appearing on the fire escape in his costume like a super villain.

Clint steers them both down a few blocks, then stops short in front of the glass doors of the restaurant, huffing with annoyance.

 _What's wrong?_ Matt asks.

Clint slides his hands under Matt's. _There's a sign on the door, says they're out of business_. He moves his hands slowly, somewhat stunned.

 _Yes, I thought it sounded empty inside. Sorry. Is there anywhere else we can go?_

 _There's another C-h-i-n-e-s-e place across the street. The food is good but the service is bad. I always liked this one better, because they were so friendly. Damn. It's always the best ones that go first._

Even though he claims not to like the place across the street as much, it seems he's a regular there too, since the middle aged Chinese woman at the hostess station recognizes him. "Hello Mr. Clint, having here or takeaway?"

"Here. What happened to Mrs. Chen's?"

"Aiyoh! So sad! Rents so high, she cannot afford. After twenty years, must close. Maybe in six months us too like that."

"Sorry," Clint mumbles, feeling uncomfortable. She leads them to a booth then lumbers sadly back to the front, as they slide in across from each other.

"Gentrification is coming to Bed-Stuy," Matt says sympathetically. "It's happening all over the city. I can hardly recognize Hell's Kitchen any more. We fight corruption where we can but when it's happening legally there's not much we can do about it."

Clint just grunts and looks down at the paper menu that doubles as a placemat. "Whaddaya wanna eat?"

Matt runs his fingers over the menu. "I don't know, this printing is too flat. Can you read me the menu?"

"Uh, they have all the usual things, spring rolls, sweet and sour pork, you know, the same as everywhere. Just tell me what you want and I'll tell you if they have it."

Matt frowns. "No. I asked you to read me the menu, so I'd appreciate it if you read me the whole thing please." Clint can't really hear tone of voice anymore, even when he can hear the words, but it's still obvious that despite the polite words Matt is seriously annoyed.

"Ok, but I'm not sure I can say all the things right, so I'll have to sign it."

"Fine," Matt says.

Actually Clint really dislikes doing their kind of tactile signing when there are other people around. It's weirdly intimate and makes him feel like they are making spectacles of themselves. Out on the street a minute ago there was no one watching, but here in the restaurant there are a lot of other customers. Going through the whole menu will give all the other diners a big show. But stubbornly, he seizes the opportunity to push back against Matt's request which he finds irritating.

Clint comes around to the other side of the booth, so they are sitting next to each other.

 _A-p-p-e-t-i-z-e-r-s_ , he starts off, purposely going extra fast, just to be an asshole. Somehow they work their way through the entire menu. A surly young woman emerges from the back to take their order. Matt orders spring rolls and sweet and sour pork. Clint stifles the urge to strangle him, and places his own order.

As the waitress saunters back to the kitchen, Clint slides back to the other side of the booth.

"What's wrong?" Matt asks.

"Nothing."

"Don't lie to me. Your heart rate just spiked. What is it?"

"It's nothing. Just two assholes sitting behind you are making fun of us."

Matt nods slowly. "Yes, I've heard them talking since we sat down. I won't repeat the ignorant shit they've been saying."

Clint shrinks back into the booth, trying not to be seen. "It's not just that. They're imitating the way we were signing, making it look so dumb." He tries to look away but when he glances back up, they're still at it, laughing hysterically. And they're not the only ones, at the table next to them, some other dudes with greasy hair are watching the two kids and laughing along with them. "Um, I'm really not that hungry. Maybe we can ask the waitress to make our order to go."

"No." Matt stands up slowly, both hands on the table. "Stay here." Even without the costume, he's got that Daredevil aura of menace radiating off him.

Clint watches as Matt snaps his folding cane open and strides over to the two assholes' table with unerring steps. The two guys are young, probably early twenties, one white, one black, little gangster wannabes. Matt brings his cane down on their table with a sharp rap, making them jump.

"Knock it off," he growls at them.

"Hey man, we just playing," the black kid says, putting his hands up in a show of innocence. The white kid sniggers and sticks up his middle finger, saying, "Look, I know sign language too!"

In a flash, Matt grabs the kid's hand and twists his finger back painfully, letting him writhe around. The kid thrashes but fails to break free even though Matt hardly seems to be expending any effort holding him down. Slowly, still pinning the kid down by his bent finger, Matt leans over and whispers something in the kid's ear. Clint can't make out what it is but whatever Matt says makes the kid's face go white. He nods and slumps limply back against the vinyl booth.

Just as Matt lets him go and snaps his suit jacket back in place, a woman at another table exclaims in a stage whisper, "Oh my God, that has to be Matt Murdock!" The last few customers who were not already staring turn to gawk as she whips out her phone. "Hey, can I get a photo with you?"

"No." Matt folds up his cane with obvious annoyance.

Just as he slides back into the booth, the waitress reappears from the kitchen with their food. She slaps their plates down on the table, her thumb in the food, then stalks off again without a word. Somehow, that breaks the spell and the other diners turn back to their own plates, their New Yorkers' jaded attitude toward celebrities reasserting itself.

Clint rearranges the plates so they each have what they actually ordered. _Thanks_ , he signs with a quick motion, trusting that Matt will get it.

 _No one is allowed to make fun of you_ , Matt replies with sharp, angry gestures, before feeling for his plate.

Clint just stares at him for a moment, feeling a small warm glow despite everything that just happened. The only other person who ever stood up for him like that was his brother Barney. Usually Clint prefers to fight his own fights, but it feels kind of nice to let someone else do it, just this once.

They eat their meal in silence. The woman who asked to take a photo launches into a long, loud story about how she saw Captain America at Starbucks this one time. The two kids throw some money on their table and slink out the door. The two greasy haired guys eat slowly, also not saying much. One stares at Matt and Clint, but the other keeps an eye on the owner and the waitress.

As they eat, Clint keeps his gaze on his plate, avoiding eye contact with the other customers, but he notices that Matt has let his head drift down and to the left, which he only does when he's focusing on something. Usually he makes an effort to keep his face pointed directly at Clint, especially when they're talking, which Clint really appreciates. But this look, with his ear cocked to the side, Clint knows means he's listening to something.

When the waitress passes by again, Matt signals to her and pays the bill, but doesn't get up. Clint just watches, suddenly feeling tense. He really wishes Matt would make a goddamn plan for once, or at least clue him into whatever is going down, but no, he's just going to have to follow Matt's lead again.

One of the greasy haired dudes gets up and walks to the back like he's going the bathroom, but Clint sees him turn at the last minute and head into the kitchen.

Matt stands up slowly, trying to act casual, but Clint can see the tension in his hands and clenched jaw. They walk outside arm in arm the same way they came in, but as soon as they get outside, Matt stops him.

 _It's a shakedown_ , he explains quickly. _I'll go around back to the kitchen. You stay here and take care of the other one._

Before Clint can answer, Matt is gone, opening the top button of his shirt and loosening his tie as he runs into the alley behind the restaurant to the back entrance. Clint watches him go, leaning forward to see around the corner of the building, so he doesn't notice the other greasy dude come up behind him and whack him on the back of the head.

Clint you dummy, he thinks as he hits the pavement. He comes back up swinging, wishing he had his bow and arrows. Would it have been weird to bring them on a date? It probably would have been weird. But still, this dude could use a glue arrow to the face.

Luckily the guy is kind of a lightweight. After Clint lands a few punches, he decides he's had enough and takes off down the street.

Clint runs around the corner to find Matt giving the other dude a beatdown in the alley. Unlike his partner, this guy is trying to fight back, but he doesn't stand a chance. He manages to land a few hits, but Matt has a strong jaw and can take a punch like no one Clint has ever seen. Well, no one without super strength, which is still something.

And Matt hits like a truck. It's kind of magnificent to watch him. Somehow he's even more intimidating without the costume-that wild, gleeful look on his bare face as he gives back more than double what the dude just gave him. The only other person Clint knows who fights like this is his brother.

"Stay... the fuck... away... from this place," Matt shouts, punctuating each word with a brutal punch.

"Fuck you," the guy spits back, throwing another wild punch. Matt grabs his wrist and twists it back, forcing the guy to his knees.

"I know you're not working alone," Matt growls. "If I hear you're back here again demanding protection money, I'll hunt down each one of you and make you wish you'd never been born." He releases the guy's hand, letting him drop to the ground, and makes like he's about to leave, but then suddenly turns again and lays the guy out with a tremendous blow right to the face.

"That's for being an asshole and laughing at my boyfriend!"

Clint smirks, breaking out into a low, sharp laugh as they walk back to his apartment.

"What?" Matt says a little defensively, trying to smooth his clothes back down and look a little less like he was just in a back alley fight.

"Did you mean that? Are we like actually boyfriends now?"

Matt smiles. "Don't tell my fan club."


	7. Chapter 7

Kate is lounging on Clint's stained couch, cleaning her nails with an arrow tip and watching a cooking show on TV with the sound turned down and the captions on when Matt Murdock wanders down the stairs from the loft wearing nothing but red plaid boxer shorts.

She nearly rolls off the couch in surprise. "Shit! I'm sorry! I didn't know you were here."

"Good morning, Hawkeye," he says with a smirk, moving smoothly to the kitchen and locating the coffee maker with steady fingers.

"Where's Clint?" Kate asks, shuffling back onto the couch.

"Still asleep. Can't you hear him snoring?"

"It's eleven am."

Matt just shrugs, then makes a face as he dumps the coffee from the previous day down the sink and rinses the pot.

"What are you doing here, anyway?" Kate continues. "Don't you have to, like, be at court or something?"

"It's Sunday. What are _you_ doing here?"

Instead of answering, Kate turns her attention back to the TV. Matt fills up the coffee maker and switches it on, then strolls around the counter and leans back against it, ankles crossed and face angled toward Kate on the couch.

"This thing that you're doing?" he says, "Hanging around but not really being present? It's hurting him. You need to either step up and be a real friend, or just go. So which is it going to be?"

Kate still doesn't take her eyes off the TV or answer him, but she knows he can probably hear her heart speed up at his words. Ugh, people with powers are the worst.

Matt puts on his courtroom voice. "Ms Bishop, answer the question please."

"Fine." She tosses the arrow to the floor and turns to face him. He's not wearing those little red sunglasses, and she always finds his wandering gaze and blank expression unsettling. She never knows where to look as he doesn't look back at her. The set of his jaw is somehow more stern than usual. She wilts back against the couch. "Ok, I suck, we've established that."

"You don't suck, but you're being a bad friend right now. Either learn ASL better, or go back to LA."

"I can't go! Look what happened last time I left! This is all my fault!" To her shame, she starts to cry a bit, her voice thick and tears stinging her eyes.

Matt's posture softens slightly. "You really think that? Why?"

"If I had been here, I could have stopped them sooner, then he never would have been stabbed."

"You can't know that. Anyway it's done, you can't change it now." Matt cocks his head to the side slightly, listening to her more carefully. "But I don't think that's really the issue. Do you have a problem with his disability?"

"No! I-"

"I can tell when you're lying, you know."

She blows her bangs up out of her eyes and curls her feet up under her on the couch. "Ok, you got me. Yes! I'm a terrible person. I just...I don't know. We get injured all the time, but we get over it, you know? I just keep hoping he'll eventually get back to normal."

Matt tightens his jaw. "There is no normal."

"The longer he's like this the more it scares me," she says in a small voice, staring at her knees.

"He's deaf, Kate. That's just the way it is now. You have to accept it."

"I know, I know!" She digs her hands into her hair. "It's just...I don't know, it makes me feel like I can't keep Avenging. When you run into a fight, you have to just do it and not think about what could happen. If I'm thinking that maybe I could get permanently injured, I'll lose my nerve."

"Any of us can become disabled at any time, even crossing the street," Matt says with that kind of smug little smirk she hates so much. Seriously, what does Clint see in this guy? She's really crying now. She's never said these words to anyone, never even fully thought it all out to herself.

Behind them, the coffeemaker gurgles and beeps.

"You realize that has nothing to do with him, right? That's your hang-up," Matt continues impatiently. "It's not the guilt and regret, it's the fear of his disability that will corrode your relationship with him. You've got to let that go, even if you have to spend some time apart to do it."

Forty minutes later, Clint staggers down the stairs to find half a pot of warm coffee and an empty apartment.

He's not surprised that Matt left without saying goodbye. It's become their habit. In fact, he's grateful that Matt didn't wake him up. He knows he'll get a text in a day or so.

Lucky is whining to go out, so it's not until after he walks the dog and comes back in that he notices the paper on the coffee table. Actually it's a takeout menu from the less good Chinese place down the street but it's been folded into a tent-like shape and seems to have a note scrawled on it.

That's strange, because Matt has never left him a note. Can he even write by hand? Well probably, but Clint's never seen him do it, and there's no reason to when he can just send a text.

As soon as he unfolds the note, Clint recognizes Kate's handwriting. Was she here this morning? He must have been more deeply asleep than he realized.

 _Hey Hawkeye,_

 _Sorry I've been such a shitty friend and partner lately. That's on me. I got asked to do some Avenging in LA again and I'm going to take the job. Sorry to leave without saying goodbye but hopefully some time in the warmer weather will help me get my head screwed on right. Please don't hate me. At least I'm leaving you the dog this time._

 _Love,_

 _Hawkeye_

Clint sits down heavily on the lumpy, stained sofa. As soon as he sits, Lucky is up in his lap. He rubs the dog's head absently, his eyes scanning the note over and over. Maybe he should feel bad that she's leaving again, but he doesn't. Well, he feels a little sad, but also somehow...lighter.


	8. Note

Thanks very much for reading! The story continues in Madripoor Sling.

Also I've published two novels on Amazon. If you like my writing here, check them out:

The Adventures of Tom Finch, Gentleman

Love in Touch


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